


once bitten, twice shy

by kiayana (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Skating, Figure Skater Miya Atsumu, Figure Skater Sakusa Kiyoomi, Getting Together, Ice Skating, M/M, gratuitous ice metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29610591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kiayana
Summary: His name is announced, and Atsumu makes his way onto the rink. The air is young and invigorating, leaving him with nothing but energy and purpose.He adjusts the cuffs of his costume. He takes his first position. The lights dim, and he knows. Resilience is at his disposal.This is it.Miya Atsumu is set back from becoming Japan's greatest figure skater. Sakusa Kiyoomi teaches him how to get back up.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	once bitten, twice shy

**Author's Note:**

> written for sakuatsu fluff week: day 9 using prompts 'ice skating au' & "you're staring."
> 
> I am not an expert on figure skating. in fact, I myself hate ice skating—but I love watching it. my knowledge is limited to internet research and a season of Yuri On Ice. bear with me.
> 
> I also hope this is not too angsty for this event, I tried to compensate with lots of good vibes at the end. I hope I'm not toeing the line too much jajaja. enjoy.
> 
> cw - mentions/depictions of (minor) injury

**Salchow**

_edge jump. takeoff from the back inside edge of one foot  
and a land on the back outside edge of the opposite foot._

✧

Atsumu is five years old when he first steps onto the rink.

The skates are uncomfortable and his fingers are still cold even under his gloves. Osamu keeps trying to push him further down the ice, and Atsumu swings his arm back to shake his twin brother off of him while trying not to bring the both of them down. 

By the end of the class, his calves are aching and his bottom hurts from the number of falls. Before he and his twin step off the rink, another boy around their age steps on, gliding smoothly along the ice with barely a wobble. Atsumu watches as he blows a raven curl out of from over his eyes and skates on further, eyes of glass filled to the brim with determination.

The boy starts moving backwards, his skates facing in, out, in, out, carving a series of curves into the ice. It's graceful and precise and it's _cool_.

 _I want to do that_ , Atsumu thinks, before his mom is at his side, leading him out to go home.

He returns for weekly classes, spending two hours every Tuesday and Thursday at the rink. After a while, this bleeds into classes every weekday. Atsumu's fingers don't get cold anymore. Osamu gave the sport up when they turned nine, complaining that it's just not his thing. Instead, he gravitates towards volleyball. Atsumu sets for him sometimes, a fickle thing, but his heart belongs to the ice.

He wins his first competition when he's fifteen. By the time his program is done, his chest is heaving and a smile is forever engraved onto his face. There's a sensation that engulfs him which he can only now label as pride. His family celebrates by taking him to a restaurant of his choice and buying him a pair of shoes he's been eyeing for some time. Osamu congratulates him with nothing more than a punch to the arm and an equally proud smile. _This is great_ , Atsumu thinks.

That night when he's settling under his covers, he pulls out his laptop and searches _Upcoming figure skating championships._

A week before his eighteenth birthday, Atsumu is faced with the decision of whether he'll pursue school or skating full-time. This entails lengthy discussions with his mother at night, over a bowl of miso soup and green tea. Osamu has resorted to going over to friends' houses to give them space. It's almost surprising how considerate he's being.

Tonight, there is a significantly less contribution of words exchanged between him and his mother. Not unsettling, but unfamiliar. Atsumu takes his mother's hand and squeezes it, just like he'd done when a man he never truly knew left through the front door of their home, or when he'd taken a series of steps on the ice and relied on his mom not to let him fall.

"I know I can make it, Ma," he tells her. In the dim of the kitchen, he can see when the words reach her.

She squeezes his hand back. "I know, baby. I know you can."

The miso is sweet under his tongue. She will not let him fall.

"I'm gonna get a boyfriend before you, ya know that, right?"

"It is _on_ , 'Samu."

There's this sense of déjà-vu as he's gliding down the expanse of the rink. He feels a buzz in his blood, the sound of his blade scraping against the ice filling him with a sort of adrenaline he doesn't think he could find much elsewhere.

He remembers being five, barely being able to remain upright while moving his feet. He remembers being nine, finally getting his toe-loop down perfectly and letting himself cheer in pride, chanting _Did ya see that, Ma, did ya see that?!_ He remembers being sixteen, program freshly memorized and the blinding lights of the championship arena glowing as he performed. He remembers being eighteen, pulling a suitcase behind him as he waved goodbye to his mother and brother, the only people who really knew him, and hopping onto a train to Tokyo.

His plan for today is loose, a bit scattered, to say the least. It's an indeterminate jumble of things; warm up a bit before his coach arrives for his first session of the day, navigate his way around the area before returning to his apartment complex. Maybe he'll grab a bite to eat at the sushi place a few blocks from it, if he feels like it.

He arrived a bit early to his session, so he unlocks his phone and selects his warm-up playlist, sweeping away at his fringe. As he's about to start some laps, a figure swiftly moves right past him, giving him a perfect view of the back of their onyx jacket. _Itachiyama Skating,_ it reads. Black curls compliment their slim figure, and their perfect form has him awestruck. Atsumu finds himself unable to look away.

Yet suddenly, they spin around for some backward gliding and make eye contact with him. He tears his gaze away instantly, almost losing balance, but keeps himself steady for the sake of his fragile dignity. Something about the pierce of those eyes manages to send chills up Atsumu's spine, and it's no use calming himself down when every time he looks over to watch them skate, all that strikes him is an unmatched level of beauty.

God, he is way in over his head.

When he's grown tired of laps, Atsumu switches from his warm-up playlist to his program song and decides to mark it until his coach rolls in. The first significant move is a triple axel jump, followed by two doubles and a flying spin. He prepares himself for the first element, pulling himself across the ice. He glides back and pushes himself up, and the feeling of flying has never felt so freeing. He lands his triple axel, letting the music in his ears guide him.

Almost too inundated with the feeling, he barely moves out of the way of a near collision with the mystery skater from before. They meet gazes again, this time an irritated scowl found on the other. Atsumu shrugs with a sheepish smile and mouths an "I'm sorry" before returning to his program.

Except he doesn't return to it right away, because he trails back to watching the other skater as he holds his arms out in an elegant formation. He jumps, Atsumu quickly identifying it as a quadruple Lutz, and lands with the delicacy of a winter's snow. He doesn't realize that his attention is so stolen that he misses his coach's arrival.

"Atsumu-kun?" He hears from behind him.

He whips around to find an man with stars for eyes. "Ah, Coach Tachibana, hi. Sorry, I was just…" Atsumu's eyes draw back to the black-haired skater, who has just landed a triple toe-loop.

Tachibana follows his gaze and sports a knowing smile. "Itachiyama. A formidable institute for figure skaters. He's quite talented, that one."

Atsumu watches as said skater completes a fluid turn, arms arced and head bent back. It's angelic, he thinks, how one can move so smoothly and seemingly effortlessly. It's doing things to his heart.

He finishes his first session evenly, planning to head out to that sushi bar by his apartment. Before he leaves, he casts one last look to the heavenly mystery skater—only to find, to his internal thrill, he is already looking at him.

When he returns home that night, Atsumu looks up _Itachiyama Skating_ in his browser and pulls up the first site that pops up. He scrolls through the member list until he lands on the person he's searching for. The picture is of the mystery skater, hair unruly and face impassive as ever. And yet, Atsumu thinks he's a divine embodiment of the moon. The opaque of his eyes compliment his rosy lips. _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ , it says under the picture.

Atsumu goes to bed with a burning face and defiant thoughts.

  
  
  


"I wanna try a quad axel," he finds himself saying one session. It's two months until the Japan Figure Skating Championships, and Atsumu has a voracious need for something beyond great. His twentieth birthday was just three months ago, and his fame as a figure skater has grown exponentially. He finds himself in magazines, TV ads, social media posts—and his big head eats it all up.

Coach Tachibana only gives him an incredulous look, as if he were speaking an entirely different language. "You can't be serious."

"I know it sounds crazy, alright?" he admits, skating back and forth in front of his coach. He says this, but deep down he knows that things are only crazy to the minds of simplicity. "But think about it—national figure skating star Miya Atsumu attempts one of the hardest, most impossible jumps in skatin' history!" He stops abruptly, looking up towards the bright white fluorescent lights. It's blinding. He loves it. "I could be the one who finally does it."

"Atsumu-kun, a quadruple axel hasn't even been ratified, it's… it's unheard of. You could injure yourself if—"

"But Coach, that's why we _practice_ ," he insists, "to get better and to do _cool stuff like that_."

"It's a bad idea. You know that."

Atsumu sighs and levels Tachibana with a stare so wild even he can feel it. "What did ya tell me when ya first started trainin' me?"

Tachibana hesitates before sighing in reluctant defeat. "That I would make you the best," he says, crossing his arms.

"Exactly! This could make me the best, Coach, don't ya see? I'll never know how great I can be if I don't even try." Atsumu remembers those exact words being spoken to him when he was just nine years old and entering his first competition. His mother's voice remains fresh in his mind, and he delightedly relays them to his coach now.

Something must click in Coach Tachibana's mind, because after a moment, he fixes Atsumu with a resolute smile and nods. "Let's get that quadruple, then."

The Championships have snuck up to Atsumu in what feels like no time at all, and even through hours and hours of endless practice, the quadruple just wasn't coming together. Discouragement is a feeling he is no stranger to, and yet it's bitter all the same. Coach Tachibana reassures him that sticking to a triple axel is his best bet, and the quad was worth a try. This poses no comfort.

His name is announced, and Atsumu makes his way onto the rink. The air is young and invigorating, leaving him with nothing but energy and purpose.

He adjusts the cuffs of his costume. He takes his first position. The lights dim, and he _knows_. Resilience is at his disposal.

_This is it._

Flowing, the first notes strum through the stadium. They bounce off the walls and float through the air before piercing him in the ribs, and he moves. The stepping sequence is performed with his natural charm, all smiles and bows. His first jump is coming up.

He approaches it like he does everything; with a hunger so palpable that his veins run icy, a resolve almost unnatural as he looks nowhere but forward. He prepares, planting the back inside edge of his blade in the ice, and with a rush of tenacity he jumps. The landing is even, unwrinkled like the fabric of his suit. Pride swells despite himself, but he relishes in it.

This program is probably his favorite of all. It encapsulates his passion for skating, while keeping room for a dash of drama and personality. It allows him to showcase what he's worked for his whole life, and that sense of hunger engulfs him all at once. Growing up, he's always needed to show he was the best; with a twin brother always there to be compared to, gaining a sense of individuality was vital. He feels that need now, in the way he digs his blade into the ice, the way he holds his hands up in a flying spin. He's lost in himself, in the ever-growing music, and he realizes he cannot disappoint himself. This is the moment he's been waiting for.

The final jump planned in his program nears. He can barely hear his own thoughts over the beating of his heart. Vaguely, a voice manages to crawl out from the depths of his mind and whispers, the words unintelligible over the music. Unlike any feeling he's had, something sparks from within him as he prepares to take off. _You have to do the quadruple axel,_ it says.

He will never admit it, but Atsumu has always been subject to pressure, even in his greatest moments of control. His desperate craving for eminence will always be his downfall, and it presents itself in this moment.

 _Shit_ , he thinks to himself _._ The trajectory is a bit off, and he doesn't know if he can steady himself in time for the jump. That insistent voice continues to chant "do it, do it, do it!" while another is telling him to calm down, just calm down, he needs to _calm down_ —

He's in the air, unable to distinguish the line between a triple and a quad. Between flying and falling.

The pain is absent before he registers it, a sharp twang that shoots up from his foot to his knee. The momentum is simply too quick, too sudden, too _much_ , and he doesn't know he's hit the ground until the world goes dark.

Well.

This is it.

**Lutz**

_toepick-assisted jump. takeoff from a back outside edge of one foot  
and land on the back outside edge of the opposite foot._

✧

Spring is late this year, with the March winds still carrying over with their wintry gusts. They received moisture, and yet the flower buds are still barely making their appearance even in the last days of April. There's a TV that hangs on the wall, surrounded by sparse pictures of family and friends that Atsumu doesn't quite recognize anymore. A million years ago, these walls might have been decorated with medals or shelves of trophies. It's a wistful thought, maybe. He tugs the blanket over his stomach higher.

A knock on the door wakes him from his reverie. Osamu steps in from behind it, holding a mug of their mom's green tea and a small paper bag of what smells like onigiri. "How ya feelin'?"

"Same as yesterday," Atsumu replies. He sits up and takes the food offered to him, immediately comforted by the familiar scent. Some things don't have to change, even though his life feels reshaped in the worst of ways. "Thanks."

"No problem." Osamu doesn't leave right away, instead glancing over at the box on the dresser in the corner of the room. He fidgets a little, looking like he wants to say something, but stops each time. Eventually, he looks back at Atsumu and sighs, a quiet thing. "I'm real sorry, 'Tsumu. About—y'know."

"Yeah, I do know. Ya don't have to keep apologizin'." Perhaps he's getting irritated for no reason, especially when his brother is showcasing his rare displays of sympathy. But that's all he's been hearing for the past few months, and it bothers him. The last thing he's ever wanted is pity, yet it's all that people can seem to offer him these days.

He can still see the way his mother looked when he woke up in a cold bed, the air smelling of antiseptics and artificial fragrances. Her smile was tattered at the edges, eyes teary and anxious. A forlorn sight that Atsumu wished he'd never seen in the first place. _I'm sorry, baby_ , she'd say, _I'm so sorry I wasn't there_. But Atsumu just held her hand, reassuring her that it wasn't her fault; it could never be. His ankle hurt like a bitch, but that pain couldn't possibly rival his mother's gaze.

Now, he feels her there in the aroma of green tea and white rice. "It's fine, 'Samu, seriously." And it is.

His brother remains quiet after that, but he still won't leave the room. It's throwing Atsumu off. Then, Osamu slowly saunters over to the door, and before leaving he looks over his shoulder at Atsumu. "Um, Rin and I are going to the rink at the Rec Center, y'know, for our anniversary. You can come if ya want." He pauses, and tips his head over to the side. Softer, he adds, "You should."

It's tempting and terrifying all the same. Two years have gone by since he's even put on his skates. He’s had his withdrawals, but has never brought himself to indulge. He’s not sure he can take it. Is this how it feels when skill betrays talent?

He doesn’t go.

Against all wishes, Osamu has managed to drag Atsumu to the skating rink after their monthly lunch meet-up, insisting that Atsumu is not a quitter and he's had enough of his over-dramatics.

"Yer never gonna get over this weird sudden fear of skatin' if ya never go back to it," he says, holding Atsumu's wrist firmly in his hand. They brush past people in the halls, some sending surprised glances as they go. Atsumu inwardly groans; the last thing he needs is for someone to recognize him.

"I'm not _scared_ , 'Samu, ya don't even know what it's like.”

He doesn’t need to see Osamu to know he’s rolling his eyes. “You don’t get to pull that on me, y’know. I’m yer brother, and I know this ain’t like you. Ya never quit anything, ‘Tsumu, and I’m sick of ya mopin’ around and reminiscin’ on the _good days,"_ he says. The air quotes are deliberately ignored by Atsumu.

“I’m not _mopin’_ , yer just exaggerating,” replies Atsumu. "I just wasn't ready."

"Yeah, well, ya better get ready, 'cause I'm gettin' you back on that ice."

They arrive at the rink area shortly thereafter, and Osamu gives Rin their sizes and sends him to rent the skates while he leads Atsumu further in. It’s not as packed as he’d expected for a weekend. Suddenly, his eyes zero in on a familiar figure in the middle of the rink, and all tact he's held up to this moment slips from his grasp.

Sakusa Kiyoomi, a story and an enigma altogether. His Biellman spin makes Atsumu want to cry; back arced and leg up behind him, spinning as if the ice is his rock and the world is revolving around him. Atsumu supposes he wants nothing more than to hold him through a pair skating, know every little detail about him. It's both bothersome and intoxicating.

“Got a crush?” He hears from beside him.

“My god, shut up,” Atsumu grits out. He has a mental note of three strikes before he physically takes out his brother. One strike.

Atsumu knows he’s gaping, and he’s painfully unprepared for the way Kiyoomi suddenly lets go of his form and glances his way, eyes narrow and calculating. _Damn it, he probably knows too._

Osamu snickers from beside him, leaning his elbows on the wall. "Yer _so_ not subtle, 'Tsumu."

Two strikes. "Can it, scrub, no one asked ya."

Osamu’s smirk doesn’t cease, and Atsumu considers ditching the mental note and pummeling him right then and there. What does his stupid brother know, anyway? After all, it’s his fault Atsumu is even here in the first place.

Rin returns with their skates, slinging an arm around Osamu’s waist. “Ready?”

Osamu huffs a chuckle under his breath. “I know ‘Tsumu is, for sure.”

“Ya know what? I’ll never forgive myself for not eatin’ ya in the womb.” Atsumu snatches his skates from Rin’s hand and stalks over the benches to put them on, and hastily makes his way onto the ice. It feels odd, almost foreign, the feeling of a blade against ice, but his muscle memory grabs hold of him. He falls into the motions, pushing himself from one side to the other. The breeze of his pace kisses his skin, an almost nostalgic feeling. Perhaps he really was making a mistake, staying away for so long.

He disrelishes that feeling—too restless, even for him. A pill too tough to swallow, maybe. Unspoken regret, maybe.

But it’s nice in the moment, he'll admit. He doesn’t trust himself with any major tricks yet, but just the feeling of gliding is enough to quiet any prominent worries. He’s steady here.

That is, until he catches another glimpse of the angel skater, who is practicing a series of Lutz jumps. Atsumu can't help but watch. The takeoff prep is meticulous, as if he's painting an intricate picture on the ice, and the power that exudes during the ascent seems sharp enough to carve glass. He lands with a satisfying graze, and all wandering thoughts evaporate when he runs a hand through his hair as he spins out.

Before Atsumu can do anything else, Kiyoomi stops abruptly. Atsumu experiences a moment of bewilderment before realizing he has also come to a complete stop and has been watching him for the past five minutes, probably. Kiyoomi does something even more unexpected, whipping around to face Atsumu with the same deadpan stare that almost suits him. Atsumu backs himself up against the wall as Kiyoomi approaches, slowly, eyes not leaving his. It brews a heat that curls in his stomach. This is the moment he dies, isn't it?

"You're staring."

Kiyoomi's stopped three feet in front of him, and Atsumu thinks it's too close yet _much_ too far. From here, he can make out two moles dotting the skin above his eyebrow. He all but melts.

He debates trying to come up with an excuse, dozens of them making themselves known in that scattered brain of his, but then he notices Kiyoomi is trying to hide a smile. It looks nearly painful, and Atsumu wants to test whether he can crack him or not. He's always been more than proficient at that. "You look real good doing all those moves," he says, crossing his arms and attempting to feign nonchalance. "Not my fault I couldn't keep my eyes off ya."

Kiyoomi's eyes only narrow at that and folds his arms. "Well, it's distracting. I'd appreciate it if you stopped."

"Sorry," Atsumu says, pushing slightly off the wall and shoots him his best charming smile. "I just see ya around a lot, yer always doing some pretty move. I saw yer with Itachiyama Skating. They're real good."

"I know. That's why I joined." Kiyoomi adjusts the black mask over his nose and stretches his hands.

"Well, I won't bother anymore. Just wanted ya to know that I like watching ya skate. It's beautiful."

Now, Atsumu is no expert on reading people, but he's sure if he wasn't wearing that mask right now, he'd have a full view of Kiyoomi's darkening face as he registers what he just said. He doesn't dignify that with a response though—Atsumu doesn't think he expected him to—only shoots him a sly eye glance and backs away, turning around to continue making rounds around the rink. Atsumu, feeling brave, makes the spur decision to chase off after him. There's a captivating gravitation that seems to tug Atsumu along, bringing him closer to the other. Kiyoomi seems to catch his activity from the corner of his eye, and gains speed in his strides. Atsumu does his best to keep up, previous reservations forgotten as he follows this peculiar beauty down the ice.

Suddenly, Kiyoomi's spinning around again, evidently preparing for some kind of jump. Atsumu slows down and watches in fascination as Kiyoomi looks him dead in the eye, before leaning on the back outside edge of his blade, and jumps. It's mesmerizing, really, how one can evoke such control through a movement.

 _I want to break that control_ , he catches himself thinking. The thought it gone quicker than it came.

"Your turn," Kiyoomi says, almost inaudible over the scraping of ice, and continues to pick up his backward pace, eyes not straying from Atsumu.

Caught in the moment, Atsumu quirks an eyebrow and feels a devious grin coming on before he relies on his muscle memory to prepare for a triple flip jump. It's comforting, the feeling of remembering. The movements are engraved in his bones and written in his blood. He cannot forget it.

The jump feels liberating, as good as stepping out into the first drops of rain in a storm. He feels at home with the descent, the landing slightly flimsy from lack of practice, but he continues on with a smile of relief. Kiyoomi shows no sign of reaction, apparently satisfied with the move as he returns his attention to in front of him and skates on.

They continue this for a few minutes, following each other like moths to a flame and showcasing different feats with varying looks of fulfillment, until Atsumu's casualness escapes him and his just barely sticks the landing of a triple Salchow.

Kiyoomi slows to a stop and turns to him with a quirked eyebrow. "You seem stiff."

Atsumu simply laughs it off with a, "Yeah, I haven't really done this in a while. Got an injury a while back. Never thought I'd even be back on the ice."

Kiyoomi studies him for a while, Atsumu feeling picked apart under his sharp gaze. Moments go by before Kiyoomi's eyes widen a fraction and lets out a visible breath. He's quick to try and cover it up again with his impassive expression. It doesn't work. "You. You're Miya."

Panic rises in the depths of Atsumu's stomach. No one was supposed to recognize him, not here, not now. He curses Osamu for bringing him out. "How… how'd ya know that?" The act of ignorance is unconvincing even to his own ears.

Kiyoomi's eyes narrow. "You were only the second-most famous figure skater in Japan two years ago. Then…" Kiyomi pauses, looking down at Atsumu's left skate with an unreadable expression before his gaze is lifted back up. "Why did you quit."

It sounds less like a question and more of an accusation. Atsumu laughs, though it's a bit strained. "Whaddya mean, 'why did I quit?' That damn bone fracture cost me a chance to compete in the championship. My career was basically hangin' by a thread." Atsumu tends to get overly tense over moments of defense, and he realizes this now as his hands are curling themselves into fists. He takes a deep breath and looks off to the side, lowering his voice. "It was better that way."

Kiyoomi offers nothing else, simply standing there, observing him. Atsumu thought he'd be preening under Kiyoomi's attention, but now he just feels too seen. Vulnerable, he doesn't admit. As soon as the contemplative stare was there, it's gone. Kiyoomi turns and slowly begins to skate away. As he retreats, Atsumu can just by a nose hear him when he murmurs, "You still shouldn't have."

With that, he took off to the benches to gather his things. And then he was gone.

**Axel**

_edge jump. takeoff from a forward outside edge of one foot  
and land on the back outside edge of the opposite foot._

✧

**miya atsumu**

hi

it's me

from the rink (。•̀ᴗ-)✧

_19:21_

**Sakusa Kiyoomi**

How the hell did you get my number

_19:26_

**miya atsumu**

uhhh yeah funny story

so my brother's bf is actually friends with your cousin

idk how he knew you were cousins but yeah I asked and he gave me it

ok wait that actually sounds kinda creepy

_19:27_

**Sakusa Kiyoomi**

What the fuck.

_19:30_

**miya atsumu**

WAIT

okay look I'm sorry I should've asked you but

you left before I could say anything else and I just wanted to know if you maybe wanted go get food. or something

_19:30_

**miya atsumu**

it's totally fine if not btw

_19:31_

**Sakusa Kiyoomi**

Where

_19:37_

**miya atsumu**

there's this place by the rec center that I like

want me to send you the location ??

_19:38_

**Sakusa Kiyoomi**

Alright.

_19:39_

Atsumu willfully ignores his brother's inquisitive glances as he walks out of his room dressed up nicer than usual. It feels odd going out, not having done it in a while. As much as he hates to admit Osamu was right, he was right. All the brooding he's been drowning himself in ever since the accident has seriously dragged on his social life.

"Sorry, 'Samu. Don't think I'm gonna be able to go for dinner." He grabs his coat from the rack and slides on his shoes, momentarily lifting his eyes from his phone. "Raincheck?"

Osamu's lounging on the couch, legs propped up and crossed. He pauses scrolling to look back at Atsumu. "Oh yeah, no worries. Not like I drove six hours here or anythin'."

"Look, I gotta _date_ , alright?"

Osamu just smirks, getting up and stalking over to him. "Yeah, yeah. I know." He opens the door for Atsumu. "Yer welcome."

Atsumu furrows his brows. "Huh?"

But Osamu has already pushed him out and shut the door.

The restaurant is a good fifteen minutes away from his apartment walking, ten if he speed-walks. The Rec Center is just a block away. He approaches the front of the building, hands deep in his pockets and heart pounding a smidge quicker than usual. Never in his life did he think he'd be going out with Sakusa Kiyoomi, mystery skater of his young adulthood and latest muse. It's funny, he thinks, that after all of their chance encounters over the course of his career, he'd get a shot with him. Someone who loves the ice as much as him.

He spots Kiyoomi's tall figure waiting outside, looking at something on his phone. He puts on his signature grin and sidles up next to him. "Hey, Omi-Omi."

Kiyoomi glances up from his phone, wholly unimpressed. "Omi-what?"

"Omi-Omi. I'm callin' ya that from now on," says Atsumu, adding a wink just because.

"Fantastic." Even with the sarcasm dripping from his tongue, his eyes betray his amusement and he motions towards the doors. "Should we go in?"

Atsumu nods enthusiastically, opening the door and gesturing for Kiyoomi to enter. "After you, Omi-Omi."

He's met with a fond eye-roll, and a part of him just knows that he's smiling under that mask of his. Above all else, he's looking forward to the next few hours.

The food is much better than any other time he'd come on his own or with his brother, but perhaps it's all in his head. Truth is, he's been seeing things through rose-colored glasses ever since Kiyoomi agreed to go out with him. He listens to whatever Atsumu rambles on and on about, contributing little things here and there when prompted. There's banter, a _lot_ of it, but it comes quite naturally between them. Atsumu's convinced there's warm sentiment behind all of those snarky remarks.

When they pop the bill, Atsumu leads Kiyoomi out of the restaurant and into the chill of the evening. It's nice to return to how life was before the fall. Normalcy has been altered in his life, and yet he finds himself gaining back what he's lost. Happiness is served with humility and reflection, and Atsumu thinks he can find it with Kiyoomi.

They fall into step as they make their way down the down the street, ears chilled from the night breeze. Atsumu asks what made Kiyoomi accept his invitation, and Kiyoomi responds with something along the lines of, _I was still skeptical by how you got my number, but thought I had nothing to lose anyway._

Atsumu laughs when Kiyoomi attempts to throw Atsumu in the road after he makes a questionable comment about Kiyoomi's legs, and Atsumu jokes that he probably would've had another accident on the ice by just staring at him for too long. Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, playing with the hem of his jacket sleeve.

"I have been wondering, though," he begins, looking down at the sidewalk, "why you never ended up going back to figure skating. You'd never seemed like the kind to give up."

Atsumu hums and scratches the back of his neck, then takes in a breath. "It's not that I was givin' up, it's just…" He sighs, trying to find the right words. "I guess I was scared. That whole thing was a huge eye-opener for me. Like, I'm not invincible." He takes a troubling breath, wringing his hands. "Shit like that ends careers, and if it happened again, who knows! It coulda been worse, Omi, I coulda done some real damage, and after being away for so long, I didn't think it was worth to get back in the game, y'know—"

"Atsumu." Kiyoomi reaches out to grab one of his trembling hands, running his thumb along the calloused skin there. "It's alright."

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I just," he looks over at Kiyoomi, who's peering down at their hands. A moment passes and he intertwines them, the sensation settling the storm brewing inside of him. "I never wanted to actually quit. I realize now I shouldn't've."

They continue walking, a quietude blanketing them as Kiyoomi seems to search for something to say. After some time, Kiyoomi looks ahead and gives Atsumu's hand a squeeze. "I've always wanted to skate with you, you know."

Atsumu's eyes immediately dart to him. There's a warmth that creeps onto his cheeks. "What?"

"When you first started making your appearance on TV, I'd watch your programs for all those competitions. And you were," Kiyoomi lets out a huff of air, almost resembling a laugh, "quite the free-spirit. My parents were never supportive of me pursuing skating as a career, said I should focus on some 'actually useful' academics or whatever. But I saw you skating out there and it was like," he lets go of Atsumu's hand to make a wild gesture with his own, "like you were free. You performed your heart out and I felt it." His eyes trail to Atsumu's, something unusually admiring floating in them. "I wanted that."

Atsumu stares at him with parted lips and bated breath. "Yer kidding, Omi. Every time I'd see ya at one of those rinks everywhere we ran into each other, I couldn't take my eyes off ya."

Kiyoomi snorts, an adorable noise Atsumu would give his life to hear every day. "I noticed."

"Hey! I'm bein' sentimental here!" Atsumu nudges him with an elbow, and Kiyoomi catches his hand again to join them once more. "Yer like an angel out on that ice, Omi, ya don't understand. I've never seen someone make jumps like that look so graceful. Your quad Lutz is perfect." Quieter, he adds, "you're perfect."

A contented sigh leaves those rosy lips and Atsumu has to restrain himself not to plant one on him right then and there. Something about him lights something ablaze in Atsumu, setting fire to the ice woven in his veins. Before he realizes it, they arrive at Kiyoomi's apartment complex. The sky is a watercolor of oranges, yellows, and blues. Atsumu feels a pang in his chest when he turns to face Kiyoomi, hands grasped in his own.

"Thanks for comin' with me," he says.

A soft expression takes its place on Kiyoomi's face. "Thanks for coming back to the rink."

They laugh, and it's warm in their mutual bubble of oblivion. Atsumu looks down at their hands and smiles. He brings Kiyoomi's up to his face and presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles, saying, "'Night, Kiyoomi."

Kiyoomi gives the shyest of smiles in turn, cheeks glowing. "Goodnight, Atsumu."

The next week, he gets a text from Kiyoomi asking him if he'd like to go to the rink together. Atsumu accepts with an overly-ecstatic text and series of heart emojis. He wonders if Kiyoomi's rolling his eyes on the other side of the screen.

When he gets there after a brisk shower and zealous jog over, he finds Kiyoomi already on the ice, doing some easy spins. Atsumu lets himself admire him for a while, taking in the calm disposition of a boy he's seen one too many glares from. Kiyoomi smiles upon seeing Atsumu, gliding his way over and meeting him at the wall.

"Nice form as always, Omi-kun," Atsumu praises, cheeky grin and all. Kiyoomi, unsurprisingly, rolls his eyes, but Atsumu knows the gesture all too well to know what it really means.

They gaze at each other for a moment, following the gleam in each other's eyes until Atsumu feels another rush of bravery whir in his blood. He reaches forward and tucks a stray curl behind Kiyoomi's ear. It's nearly too affectionate for him to admit, and at this point, they're both blushing madly. He can't seem to care when his hand lingers on Kiyoomi's face, feeling the skin under his own. Kiyoomi simply watches him with half-lidded eyes and a smile too warm for ice. The back of Atsumu's finger brushes Kiyoomi's lips, and he holds far too much adoration for the way Kiyoomi's eyelashes flutter.

He swears his heart stops when Kiyoomi smiles softly and presses a kiss to it.

"Skate with me," he whispers.

And well. Atsumu can't possibly resist _that_.

He gets his skates in record time and joins his angel skater out on the ice. They're the only ones in the rink, the ice belonging to them if only for just a moment. They skate circles around each other and laugh when they make a weird face at almost slipping, too caught up in each other's gazes. 

Kiyoomi takes him by the wrists and brings him in close, chests almost touching, and spins them in a tight circle. "Do your axel, Atsumu," he says in his ear.

Atsumu chuckles and nods, preparing by positioning the back inside edge of his blade on the ice, and lets this familiar rush lure his eyes to look at Kiyoomi. A heartbeat for every curl on his head, a spark of adrenaline for every dotted mole on his skin. He bends slightly, breath of air whipping through his hair, and he knows. He's ready, ready, _ready._ Resilience is once again at his disposal.

_Would you catch me this time?_

Kiyoomi looks at him, something like a _Yes_ shining in his eyes. Almost love, he thinks.

Atsumu jumps.

(“Did ya have a nice time with yer _boyfriend_?”

Atsumu tackles his brother to the ground with an accustomed passion, third strike and mental notes forgotten.)

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> miya osamu is a wonderful brother.
> 
> thank you for reading this little thing! I don't know when this turned into a slight Atsumu character study but I guess my 12am brain took its own path here. I sincerely hope you enjoyed regardless. :] let me know what you thought!


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